[Note from Rowland. Harry is very liberal, theologically, and on some issues we part company (put his name into our website’s search facilities). But I like the drift of this one!]

June 24, 2007

By Harry T. Cook

Luke 9: 18-24

Within the space of seven short sentences, as Luke tells the story, Jesus extracted from one of his closest followers the conviction that he, Jesus, was the messiah of God, that is, the one human being (at least in that time and place) set apart and anointed. The question at first was, Who do the crowds say I am? The term crowds at this place probably refers to the crowds of people mentioned in Luke’s gospel immediately preceding today’s text – the great number of those whom Luke depicted as satisfying their hunger with portions carved from five loaves and two fish.

Jesus’ disciples tell him that they are saying he is John the Baptist come back to life, or even the great mythical prophet Elijah – both of whom occupied lofty places in the collective memory of Israel. After all, Elijah is remembered as one who, it was said, managed to stretch one handful of meal and a small cruse of oil into food for himself, a poor widow and her son – food that lasted indefinitely. Anyone who could do that with five loaves and two fish must be another Elijah or Elijah himself.

Au contraire. Luke portrays Peter as seeing beyond that to what eventually became the Christian belief that Jesus was more than a prophet, that he was the long-sought-for messiah or savior of his people. In Matthew’s version of this story, Jesus is made to tell Peter that he is correct, that he – Jesus – is messiah. All three gospels (Mark, Matthew and Luke) go on to say that, upon hearing his chief disciple’s confession of belief, Jesus sternly ordered him and his other disciples to breathe not a word of it to anyone.

Why? What was the problem? If both Jesus and his inner circle believed that, if the crowds whose stomachs he had just in some way filled with good things were thereby favorably disposed toward him, why not tell them? Why not tell the world? Did the gospel writers think Jesus had been afraid of what would happen to him if he emerged in public with the same title in Aramaic and was claimed for the Caesars in Latin or Greek? No one in power takes kindly to competition and will do whatever is necessary to silence it.

But what comes next in the gospel text suggests that Jesus was anything but afraid. It was just that he didn’t want to be considered as arrayed against Caesar legion for legion, spear for spear. In any case, Jesus was much like the pope in the eyes of old Joe Stalin: without legions. But also was the fact that Jesus could apparently see in his future the suffering that comes of standing stoically in opposition to a greater power. Think here of Gandhi and the Raj. Think of Dr. King and the entrenched racism of America in the 1960s.

About who they thought he was, Jesus told his followers to shut up. Say nothing. But he also bade them to follow him, which entailed, as it turned out, the denial of any particular privilege and the embrace of sacrifice. Keep it to yourself, but follow.

I spotted a workman’s van in our neighborhood several weeks ago. In huge letters across the back was the legend WISE MEN STILL FOLLOW HIM. DO YOU? I stopped by that work site a few days later, only to encounter the guy who owned the vehicle. I asked him what was the significance of the message. The answer was easy, he said, quoting the Bible: Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved. I begged off, saying that I was an Episcopalian and that we don’t believe in being saved. My tongue was in my cheek, but he didn’t get my lame attempt at humor. He was genuinely alarmed.

I played him for another minute or two by asking what was in it for me thus to believe. He said, “Eternal salvation.” I didn’t bother to ask from what, but said instead, “What do I have to do?” The reply? “Just believe.” But I wanted to know what I had to do. He said I had to do nothing but believe, and I would never have another worry. Thereupon I quoted to him the part of the gospel about taking up one’s cross and losing one’s life in order to save it.

“Oh,” he said with some resignation, “You must be one of those liberals.” I wanted to know why quoting the Bible as he had done made me a liberal. He was putting his tools into the back of his van and was clearly done with the conversation, but said finally, “You types take faith and turn it into programs and projects. Can’t you just praise the Lord and spread the gospel?” I had the last word by reminding him that Jesus had told his own disciples basically to keep their beliefs to themselves but to lay down their lives as he was to do. The man with the van sighed deeply, slammed the door and drove off, probably wondering what kind of lunatic I was.

© Copyright 2007, Harry T. Cook. All rights reserved. This article may not be used or reproduced without proper credit.